


Three of a Kind

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Flappy Family [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Fitz, Autistic Jemma, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, more educational fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Jemma has been doing a lot of research, and she might be more like Fitz and Caroline than she previously thought+Fitz builds a sensory playroom(Autistic Fitzsimmons family fic)





	Three of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> anon requested a fic where fitz builds a sensory room. another anon asked for a fic where jemma realizes she's autistic too 
> 
> if you're interested in autistic jemma you can read the full post explaining it [here](http://buckysbears.tumblr.com/post/159547118159/jemma-autism-checklist)   
> & the page on atypical autism jemma is reading is [here](http://p-3a-s-life-resources.tumblr.com/post/115347374289/atypical-autism-traits)

The front door opens and closes, and before Jemma can call out she hears, “It’s just us!”, so she settles back against the couch. There’s the patter of little feet, Fitz saying “Your shoes-! Oh, alright,” and then Caroline is crashing onto the couch beside Jemma.

Jemma smiles, setting her laptop on the end table. “Darling, did you take your shoes off like daddy asked you to?”

Caroline twiddles her fingers, not answering, but she lifts her legs to display the two bright blue tennis shoes still on her feet.

“How about you go back to daddy and have him help you take those off?”

With a pout, Caroline pulls herself off the couch and slumps back toward the foyer. Jemma can hear Fitz talking, but she can’t make out what he says, before Caroline makes her way back to Jemma and pokes her in the knee.

“Fishy is hungry,” she says, still pouting.

“What would you like to eat?” (Jemma doesn’t know why she asks, she’ll always get the same answer. She supposes it’s just to let Caroline feel like she’s making decisions.)

“Fish food.”

“Do you want it in water?”

Caroline shakes her head.

Jemma gets up, makes her way to the kitchen, and pours Caroline a bowl of plain Cheerios, no milk. She squats down so she’s on eye-level with the four-year-old.

“How about you take this up to your playroom so that I can talk to your father for a little while? That sound good?”

Caroline takes the bowl and dashes away, thundering up the stairs.

That’s when Fitz enters the room, tossing Caroline’s backpack on the table and then coming over to give Jemma a peck on the lips. “Enjoying your day off?” he asks.

“I’ve been doing research.”

“So, that’s a yes,” he chuckles.

“I—” Jemma’s thumbs run over her fingers. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” Fitz’s eyes flick over her face, not staying in any one spot for too long. He backs up and leans against the table, crossing his arms. “Good something, or bad something?”

“Good something, I think.”

Fitz relaxes, face falling into something relieved. “Oh, good. Shoot, then.”

“I think I’m autistic.”

Fitz blinks, not responding for a few seconds. “Really?”

“Well, see—” Jemma moves back into the family room, Fitz trailing her. She picks up her laptop and sits down on the couch, Fitz falling next to her. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading on something called ‘atypical autism’. It’s autism, just a presentation of it that frequently falls under the radar. It can show up like that in any gender, but it’s more common in girls. Doctors frequently miss it, which is one of the reasons girls aren’t diagnosed as much.”

“And you think you have it?” Fitz asks, nodding towards the laptop.

Jemma chews her thumbnail for a moment, before realizing and pulling it out of her mouth. “I think so. I’m- I’m pretty sure, actually. I relate to a lot of it. And I relate to typical autism things as well, I’ve been realizing: the literal-mindedness, the difficulty with typical social interaction, need for consistency and order, and I’m good at pattern recognition. I think my interest in astronomy would count as a special interest, as well, and also in venomous things. I know just about every venomous species, and all about different types of poisons in animals.”

“That’s true,” Fitz says, “you do.”

“And apparently alexithymia is an autistic thing, as well as childhood hyperlexia.”

“Alexithymia?”

“It’s defined as difficultly understanding and identifying emotions in the self, and difficulty describing emotions to other people. You know I’ve always been an emotional person, but I do have a lot of trouble with that. I never knew there was a word for it until today.”

Fitz nods. “Yeah, that makes sense for you. What about the atypical autism stuff, then?”

“Here, this page has some information about it.” She hands over the laptop.

Fitz scrolls through the page, nodding occasionally. “’Uses control as a stress management technique’, yeah, that’s definitely you. The anxiety and fear thing is you, too. ‘Fired up when talking about special interests’. ‘Hates injustice’.” Fitz laughs. “This was basically written about you. ‘Shuts down when overloaded’, yeah, you do that. You always get really quiet. ‘Stims to soothe’. You do that, too.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you always rub your fingers together, and do that neck thing.” Fitz demonstrates, squeezing against his neck.

“Huh,” Jemma says. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“But, yeah, this all sounds a lot like you,” Fitz says, passing the laptop back. “Are you gonna make an appointment to get tested?”

Jemma is quiet, and Fitz nudges her foot with his.

“Jem?”

“I was thinking … no.”

“Oh. Really? Why?”

Jemma sighs, briefly chewing on her bottom lip. “I suppose I just don’t see the benefit of it. For me, I mean. I feel like as long as I know, and the people I choose to tell know, that’s all I really need. As far as accommodations go, I know Coulson will grant them to me if I talk to him about it. I’m not sure I even need any, though, considering I have control over most of the lab as it is, and have set it up how I like it. But there’s always the question of, should I try to get another job one day, would that be a mark against me? It’s already hard enough being a woman in STEM, much less one with a stigmatized disability.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Fitz admits.

“A diagnosis follows you whether you want it to or not,” Jemma says. “But if it was just up to me, I could control it. I could share it only with people I trust. I just think I would feel more comfortable about it that way. Even besides work, what if we wanted to adopt one day? Both of us having a diagnosis would make our chances slim, despite all our accomplishments and the good life we can provide a child.”

Fitz slumps against the back of the couch, brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think …” He wrings his hands. “Do you think I shouldn’t have gotten diagnosed?”

Jemma shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. I think it was good you got diagnosed. For one thing, I think hearing it confirmed by an authority on it really helped you. I’m not sure you would’ve accepted it otherwise.”

“That’s true, I probably wouldn’t have.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think having the diagnosis will hurt Caroline?”

Jemma purses her lips, thinking. “I think things are changing. I think advocates are working every day to make sure the world is a fairer place to autistic people in the future. By the time Caroline is joining the work force, I think things are going to be a lot different. If it isn’t … I don’t know. It might hurt, it might not. Depends on her field. We don’t really have any way of knowing now. But I think the diagnosis was important for her, so she can get accommodations in school. She’s starting kindergarten next year, and it's not going to be a big deal then, but once she gets into a standard classroom environment she’s going to need help.”

“I just want what’s best for her.”

Jemma reaches over and links their hands. “I know, me too.”

Fitz chews on his cheek, staring down at the floor. After a few seconds he shakes his head. “Sorry, this is supposed to be about you, though.” He nods toward the laptop, still open on the ‘atypical autism’ page. “I’m really glad you found that. I’m glad you know now.”

“I mean, I’m going to keep doing research. This is something I really have to think about. And I’d like to talk to my parents about it, as well. But, this is something I’m pretty sure about. It makes sense. In a ‘pieces falling together’ sort of way.”

Fitz nods. “That’s how it felt for me, too, once I started really thinking about it.”

“And … I don’t know. I suppose a part of me likes the idea of sharing that with you. It might’ve been one of the things that drew us together in the first place.”

Fitz squeezes her hand, a smile curling its way across his face. “I like the idea of sharing that with you, too.” Suddenly, his eyebrows shoot up. “Speaking of, I think you’re really going to like what I’m doing with the playroom.”

Jemma’s gaze turns suspicious. “What are you doing with the playroom?”

Fitz shakes his head, darting off the couch. “I can’t tell you.”

Jemma stands. “Why not?”

He turns and backs toward the stairs, facing her and trying to contain a grin. “Then it won’t be a surprise.”

“ _Fitz_ ,” Jemma warns.

“ _Jemma_ ,” Fitz mocks.

“Tell me.”

Fitz laughs, and turns and dashes up the stairs.

“Ugh, Fitz,” Jemma calls. “Don’t be childish.”

(She still runs after him anyways.)

The playroom door slams behind him, and she hears the lock click as she stops in front of it.

“Fitz, this is ridiculous.”

She hears mumbling from behind the door, then Caroline’s excited voice shouting, “It’s a surprise!”

“Well, how long is this surprise going to take?”

More mumbling, then Caroline saying, “A week! A week!”

Jemma huffs a sigh. “ _One week_ , and then I’m coming in whether you like it or not.”

Fitz laughs. “Deal.”

-

A week goes by, and Fitz’s secrecy only feeds her voracious curiosity. He keeps her away from the playroom, bringing in materials and other items while she’s at work, or late at night after she’s already gone to bed. She admits, she did try to get in once. She couldn’t help it, she was just too inquisitive. But the door had been locked.

They’re sitting at dinner, Fitz and Jemma eating pasta and chicken leftovers from the Italian restaurant down the street, Caroline eating Cheerios. There are a few bites of chicken on Caroline’s plate that she hasn’t touched, but it’s been a long day and Jemma is too tired to push it.

Fitz clears his throat, and Jemma looks up.

“So …” he says, biting back on a grin. “The playroom is done.”

“What?” Jemma says, almost not believing it, it feels like she’s been waiting so long.

“Yeah, finished it this morning.”

Jemma quickly wipes her mouth with her napkin and pushes her chair back.

“Jem, you’ve still got half a plate of—”

But Jemma’s already up the stairs.

She tries the playroom door, and this time it’s open. She pushes in, and then stops short in the doorway.

It’s a lot to take in all at once.

Caroline squeezes past her, and throws herself onto the big beanbag chair in the corner of the room, landing with a _whoomp_. Fitz chuckles, sidling up behind Jemma, a hand on her hip.

“Can I give you the tour?”

Jemma, still too shocked to speak, nods.

Fitz takes her hand and leads her in. He turns her around first, facing the wall the door is on.

“So this is more for- um—” Fitz motions with his hand. “-horizontal climbing than vertical climbing. I didn’t want to make it too tall, but there are pads on the floor in case she falls still.”

Jemma looks down, and sure enough there are thick pads beneath the climbing wall.

He tugs her hand, and she follows. On the next wall is a board, and the board is covered in different materials. Some plush, furry fabrics, a circle of shag carpeting, velvet, some fabric with bumps, ridged carboard, and sandpaper.

“Texture board,” Fitz says, and then motions to the table in front of it. “And a sandbox. And see, it’s got this little funnel, so you can—” Fitz scoops up some of the sand with a cup, and pours it into a funnel that’s supported by bars over the sandbox. The sand falls through some clear tubes and then rains down out of a watering can nozzle. Fitz holds his hand out, and lets the sand rain down over his palm and slip between his fingers. Once it’s finished, he wipes his hand over the table and then on his pants, then takes Jemma’s again.

In the next corner is the bean bag chair, which Caroline is still lying face down on, kicking her feet through the air. Suspended over the beanbag chair is a rope net, hanging low enough that the four-year-old could grab onto and pull herself up. It stretches from over the chair to the middle of the room, above a small blanket fort that’s built against the window, letting natural light into the fort. There’s a corner of a weighted blanket peeking out from the entrance.

Fitz pulls her to the last corner. Hanging from the ceiling is a large, circular swing, like a small trampoline suspended on ropes. Fitz ducks under the ropes and sits on one side of the swing, patting the other side.

“I got one big enough we could both sit on it.”

Jemma joins him, pulling her knees up to her chest and gazing around the room as Fitz gently rocks them.

“So … what do you think?”

Jemma shakes her head. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

Fitz chews his bottom lip. “I mean, it’s for Caroline, obviously. It was made with her in mind. But also … I don’t know. Kind of added stuff I thought we’d like, as well. Obviously we’re a bit too tall for the rock wall. And we might just- uh—” Fitz looks over. “-just stick our heads in the fort. But, you know. It’s sort of a family thing. Something we can all enjoy together.”

“Fitz,” Jemma breathes. “I … This is amazing. I’m speechless.”

Fitz peers at her hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Truly.” She grabs his hand with her own, bringing it up to rest against her chest. “I can’t even imagine having something like this when I was a kid.”

Fitz grins. “Well, Caroline is going to grow up with one.”

“Speaking of,” Jemma says. “Caroline, have you said thank you to daddy for building all of this for you?”

Caroline squirms off the beanbag and starts jumping around the room, flapping her hands by the sides of her face, squealing loudly. She hops and twists about, dancing around the room until she stops suddenly, makes a loud kissing sound, “ _Mwah!_ ”, and then throws herself back on the beanbag.

Jemma can’t help her loud laugh. “I think that means ‘thank you’.”

Fitz nods, snorting. “Yeah, I think it does.”  

Jemma bites her lip, dropping Fitz’s hand to tangle her own together.

Fitz nudges her with his shoulder. “You want to go play with the sandbox, don’t you?”

“I want to play with the sandbox,” Jemma admits.

Fitz pulls her off the swing and back over to the table with the sandbox. Jemma kneels in front of it, scooping up a cup of sand and then pouring it over her fingers, grinning at the sensation. Caroline joins her, making little “ _wshh, wshh, wshh_ ” sounds with her mouth as she traces patterns in the sand.

Fitz leans against the wall to watch them, looking on with a fond smile.

“I’m really glad you both like it,” he says.

Jemma and Caroline both just give pleased hums.


End file.
